


walking (falling?) disaster

by remy (iamremy)



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Deaf Clint Barton, Established Relationship, Ficlet, Hurt Clint Barton, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Bucky Barnes, Worried Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 19:50:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17648801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamremy/pseuds/remy
Summary: Stupid Clint, deciding he wants to fall out of the sky and hit his head and nearly give Bucky a heart attack. What a total asshole.(Bucky is freaking thefuckout.)





	walking (falling?) disaster

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SPNxBookworm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SPNxBookworm/gifts).



> my wife is an enabler and has a craving for hurt!clint, and who am i to refuse? i just need an excuse tbh.
> 
> side note: FUCK U MCU HE'S GOT HEARING AIDS, YOU COWARDS

Bucky’s heart lurches, coming to a standstill against his sternum, and he can’t figure out why until he looks skywards and realizes he can’t see Clint anywhere, when just a few seconds ago Clint had been zooming about overhead on his Sky-cycle, taking down as many of the slimy little alien fucks as he could. Trying to stave off panic till he knows for sure what’s going on, he scans the skies, searching desperately for an obnoxiously purple Sky-cycle, or an arrow, _anything_ —

A second later there’s a deafening crash to his 5 o’clock and he whirls to see the Sky-cycle crash into the road, bursting into flames not a moment later and evaporating the three slimy fucks in its immediate vicinity. Bucky’s heart comes back online with a vengeance, writhing in his chest, his breath coming in quick short bursts as his feet take him to the wreck even before his brain can give the command.

It explodes when he’s a few steps away, the force taking him off his feet and hurling him backward. The crash when he knocks into a lamppost knocks the wind out of him, but he doesn’t care, not when everything in him is screaming for Clint. He staggers to his feet, tries again, limping a little, three seconds away from throwing up, because _nothing_ could have survived that fall, much less the subsequent explosion.

“Buck!” shouts Steve over the comms. “Buck, you alright?”

“Yeah,” Bucky replies, “yeah, Steve, where’s Clint, _where’s Clint_ —”

“What do you mean where’s Clint?” asks Natasha sharply.

“That was his Sky-cycle, fuck, I can’t _see him_ —”

A slimy fuck tries to take advantage of his momentary distraction and comes at him. He grabs it by the throat and flings it aside without even looking, all of his attention focused solely on the remains of the Sky-cycle. Clint isn’t in there, he can’t be, but then _where is he_ —

Something flies overhead; Bucky looks up, shielding his eyes against the sun, and sees Iron Man arc upwards, thrusters at full-blast, urgency written into every line of the suit. He follows Iron Man as far as his eyes will allow, not paying any mind to how the glare of the sun hurts his eyes. Another slimy fuck approaches; Bucky shoots it without a glance. He is left well alone after that, probably because he’s killed every single one around him.

“Tony, what is it?” Steve asks.

There is no answer for a few seconds; Tony has vanished from Bucky’s view, and probably from Steve’s as well. Bucky can’t see any of his teammates, but knows they are nearby, and can be with him in minutes if he needs it. But they’ve got their own slimy fucks to fight off, and Bucky should probably go help—

“I’ve got Hawkeye,” Tony says over the comms, and Bucky nearly sags from relief before pulling him together once more.

“Where are you?” he asks, brusque.

“Coming to you now,” Tony says. “Give me a few.”

A few what, Bucky wants to ask, but then he spots Steve picking his way through the rubble towards him, followed closely by Natasha. A moment later, Rhodey and Sam also land nearby, and the Hulk appears around the corner, lumbering in their direction. For some reason, Thor is sitting on his shoulders and steering him around, looking delighted as he does so.

His expression melts off when he sees the look on Bucky’s face, and he hops off. “What is happening?” he demands.

As if on cue, Iron Man appears back in Bucky’s line of vision, and – Bucky’s heart contracts painfully in his chest – he’s got Clint in a careful hold.

Clint doesn’t look conscious, which is bad. There is blood darkening his hair and dripping off his face, which is worse.

“Shit,” breathes Natasha.

“What happened?” asks Rhodey.

Bucky is at Tony’s side even before he’s completely touched down. “Give him here,” he demands, and Tony, for once, does not say a single word, just gently puts Clint down on the sidewalk, taking great care with his head.

“What happened?” Rhodey asks again. Ignoring him, Bucky gets to his feet next to Clint and reaches out with his right arm, and does not fail to notice how his fingers are shaking.

The blood on his head is warm, tacky, staining his hair a violent maroon, and the sight of it makes Bucky want to throw up, and shit, that’s new, it’s not as if he’s any stranger to blood – but this is Clint, and he’s Bucky’s, and he is not responding to Bucky’s touch or his voice—

Bucky presses his fingers under Clint’s jaw, finds a pulse, and lets out a breath he wasn’t aware of holding. One of Clint’s hearing aids is gone, probably lost somewhere, and his quiver’s empty, and Bucky can’t see his bow, which stings him for reasons he can’t explain.

Tony takes a step closer, visor sliding up, and reaches an arm in Clint’s direction. A second later, he says quietly, “Vitals are normal. Pulse a bit slow, but that’s to be expected. No signs of brain injury, but a mild concussion, I think. Four cracked ribs, though.”

Bucky looks up at him, nods wordlessly, hoping his face conveys the thanks he’s unable to vocalize.

“They got slime in his Sky-cycle,” Tony tells him. “The little bastards. He got them all, but the damage was done and it crashed into the side of a building, and he fell off.”

“You got him, though,” Natasha says, from where she’s kneeling on Clint’s other side, and when had she gotten there? Bucky must be losing his touch.

“Yeah,” is all Tony says, uncharacteristically short.

“He’ll be okay, right?” Bruce asks, standing awkwardly in just his boxers, un-Hulked.

Tony nods. “Gonna be off his feet a while, though.”

Bucky sits back, unable to hold in his relief any longer. “Fuck,” he says with feeling, and then again, “ _fuck_.” A moment later, Steve’s hand is on his shoulder, heavy and warm.

“He’ll be okay, Buck,” Steve says softly.

Bucky just nods. “Asshole better be.”

Clint takes that as his cue to rejoin the world of the living, it seems – his eyes flicker under his eyelids, his fingers twitch against Bucky’s, and then a second later he’s blinking awake, groaning as his injuries make themselves known. “Wha’ ‘appened?” he mumbles, words slurring from a combination of bleariness and not being able to hear himself talk.

“You fucking _idiot_ ,” says Bucky. “You absolute _punk_.” But he takes Clint’s hand all the same, helps him sit up, and then, before Clint can speak again, wraps his arms around him and pulls him close as gently as possible.

“Ow,” says Clint, muffled into Bucky’s shoulder.

“Shut the fuck up,” Bucky tells him. “Son of a bitch. I’m gonna kick your ass. Fucker.”

“I’ll help,” adds Natasha, completely seriously.

“Translation: they’re very glad you’re alive,” Steve says dryly.

“Gave us quite a scare,” says Sam.

“Don’t do it again,” adds Tony.

“It is most unpleasant,” Thor informs him.

Clint looks at all of them in turn, blinking owlishly. “But wha’ did I _do_?” he asks, clearly perplexed.

Bucky just sighs, adjusting his hold on Clint so he can help him stand. “Never mind, dipshit,” is all he says. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

“Is this a bad time to mention there’s slime all over the jet?” asks Tony.

Bucky _really_ hates those slimy fuckers.

* * *

“Hey, Clint?”

It’s the unusual use of his first name in lieu of an endearment or a curse word that has Clint looking up, and Bucky feels his heart jolt in his chest again at the sight of the bandage wound around his head. Not that bandages on Clint are an unusual sight. It’s just. It’s the blood. Bucky can’t stop seeing it.

“Yeah?” Clint says, lowering his Starkpad. “What is it, Buck?”

Buck watches him for a moment, studying his face, every line, every scar, the definition of his cheekbones, the clear blue of his eyes. Clint’s skin is a little pink from the shower they’ve just had, flushed, vital, and Bucky can’t take his eyes off it, of what it means.

“Nothing,” he says in the end. “Just – don’t do that again, okay?”

“I don’t _plan_ on doing these things, you know,” Clint grumbles. “They just… happen to me.”

“You know what I mean, asshole,” Bucky says, pulling the covers back so he can get in bed next to Clint. He feels Clint’s eyes on him as he makes himself comfortable, but neither of them says a word until Bucky’s settled and turned off his lamp.

“You okay?” Clint asks eventually.

Bucky snorts. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

Clint just shrugs. “I’m fine. I’ve had worse, man, this is _nothing_.”

“Scared me, though,” Bucky says after a few seconds. “A lot.” The memory of Clint’s blood still has Bucky tasting bile.

Clint puts his Starkpad aside and reaches out to cover Bucky’s hand with his. “I’m sorry,” he says after a pause. It’s so rare to hear those words from him that Bucky can’t help but smile a little, at how ridiculous it actually is – Clint didn’t even _do_ anything wrong.

“Don’t,” he says. “You didn’t – it wasn’t your fault, doll.”

Clint squeezes his fingers in response to the endearment. “Just part of the job, huh?”

“Just part of the job,” Bucky echoes, even as he swears to himself to never take his eyes off Clint again.

On a sudden whim he reaches over and kisses Clint gently, tangling the fingers off his left hand in Clint’s hair, taking care of the bandage. Clint responds enthusiastically, moving so he can wrap his arms around Bucky—

And then groans, hands flying to his ribs. “Aww, ribs, no.”

Bucky pulls away. “Shit, I forgot – you okay?”

Clint nods. “Ugh, yeah,” he mumbles. “Just annoyed.”

“We can make out properly once you’re healed,” Bucky says.

“That a promise?”

Bucky grins, and kisses Clint’s cheekbone. “Yeah, it is. And if you’re good, maybe I’ll even let you ride me.”

Clint flushes at that, fingers tightening in Bucky’s shirt. “You fucking _tease_ ,” he accuses.

Bucky just smiles beatifically, turning it into a laugh when Clint half-heartedly swats at him. “Seriously, though,” he says a moment later, when Clint’s settled into his side, head on his shoulder. “No sex till your ribs heal.”

“You’re no fun,” grumbles Clint.

Bucky puts an arm around him, letting his fingers slip under the collar of Clint’s shirt so he can trace his clavicle. “You’re a dumbass,” he tells Clint fondly, pressing a kiss to the side of his head.

“You love me,” Clint tells him smugly, sliding further down the bed until his head is over Bucky’s chest.

“Hmm, yeah, I still haven’t figured out how to cure that lapse of judgment,” Bucky says, and is rewarded with a laugh.

“I, uh.” Clint pauses. “I love you too, you know?”

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky says.

“You’re still an asshole, though.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky repeats with a grin, and shifts them both carefully until they’re properly lying down, facing each other, Clint’s head pillowed on Bucky’s right arm. “But you love it.”

Clint just makes a sleepy little sound of assent, and wriggles his leg in between both of Bucky’s, throwing an arm around his waist. “Mm,” is all he says, pressing his face into Bucky’s neck. “’M sleepy.”

“Sleep, then,” says Bucky. “I’ve got you.”

Clint mumbles something else, raises his head just enough that he can take out his hearing aids, and then gives them to Bucky to put aside. “’Night,” he mumbles.

He can’t hear Bucky, or read his lips, and Bucky can’t sign, so instead Bucky just taps out a _goodnight_ on Clint’s arm in Morse code, and then, a second later, follows it up with _sleep well, doll_. In the morning he’s going to go down to the gym and release all the stress and worry of the battle into a punching bag, but for now he’s content to just lie there with Clint in his arms, pulse strong against Bucky’s fingers, breath warm on his neck.

When he closes his eyes he sees Clint’s lips shaping the words “I love you” at him, and there is no blood anywhere.

**Author's Note:**

> pls use the comments box to discuss with me what a dork clint is.


End file.
